I looked at my watch; almost twelve. Almost time for lunch. My laptop pinged; an email had arrived. It was from Accounts. They were asking for a more detailed breakdown of “the costs incurred in the fiscal year”. I hate emails from Accounts. They always conjure images of old men with thick glasses and heads buried in books, in my mind. I told them I’d get back to them later.
I got out of my chair and walked to the coat rack. I got my coat off the rack and headed out. On the way, I told Enid – my secretary – that I was going out for an early lunch. Luckily, the elevator was at our floor and almost instantly, I was on my way down. The bell chimed; announcing my arrival on the ground floor. The lift doors opened and I got out. I walked quickly to the front doors, nodding to the security guard on the way. I’d been distracted all day today.
I got out of the building. It was hot and humid. Unusual weather for this time of the year. I turned left and started walking to the place where I usually have my lunch. They’d whip up something for me even if I was a bit earlier than usual. Suddenly, I felt something moist on my nose. It was a raindrop! And as suddenly as the raindrop had fallen, it started raining. In a few seconds it was raining as steadily as if it had been for hours.
It was times like these that made me think of Jane. She would call this rain presumptuous. She had these little and unusual adjectives for describing everyday life things. The rain would be self-presumptuous because it had assumed that it was expected and thus had started falling in a way that would make it seem like it had been there for hours. It was making itself at home.
I realized that while I had been thinking all this, I’d been standing in the rain. I darted into the shelter of a nearby building. I looked down at the pavement to check if it was really dry because I wouldn’t have known it; the way I was drenched. I saw a small blade of grass peeking out from between a crack in the pavement. Ambitious, I thought. I smiled to myself. There I was being the same way as Jane was. She was very unique that way, Jane. She could totally take over your mind to the point that you seemed to be an extension of her. And that ability did not diminish in her absence. My thinking like this after just one memory of her was proof enough.
Jane wasn’t a bad person, though. But she was a powerful person. Powerful, in the way, that she would have an impact on anyone and everyone around her. Jane had a big impact on me. After my mother died, we were all devastated. And totally clueless about what to do and how to go about doing it. But Jane had moved in. She had the complete run of the house within the hour. My father never even thought of contradicting her or asking her why she was moving in. Everything from getting us ready for school to breakfast, lunch and dinner to attending PTA meetings was Jane’s task.
Jane had been specially close to me, though. She used to tell me about her own children and what ‘incompetent idiots’ they were. She had only one dream, she told me. That one of her sons become a lawyer. But they never did. One joined the Army and the other worked in a garage. As time passed, Jane began to see me as a son. She wanted me to become a lawyer. And it hurt her when I chose management instead. During my years at college, I was going through a difficult phase; and coming at home and seeing Jane’s disappointed expression became too much after a while. So one summer, I put off going home. One summer became two and two became three and three became twenty.
Jane became a figment of the past, in my mind. Someone to be thought of when I discussed my childhood with a friend or a girlfriend. Then she receded into the deep recesses of my brain. Until this morning.
Jane had died three days ago. Her service was planned for today. They were going to bury here in the city. I had forgotten her family had lived in the city before she had moved into the suburbs with us. But this was not what saddened me. The saddest thing was, that nobody had told me. I had read it in the paper at breakfast. My father had passed away five years ago and I remembered Jane had been too sick then to attend the funeral. I, myself, had been in too much shock to go check on her and had taken time off. But someone should have told me of her death. I suppose the incompetent idiots forgot to tell me too.
The rain had stopped now and the sun was shining. It had been a very small spell. Perhaps just a cloud that wanted to shed its weight and move on. Even the water had dried whilst I had been musing. Like it had never rained. How presumptuous of the sun, I thought. And suddenly, I knew what to do. I quickly ran to the street and hailed a cab. I got in and gave him directions to the cemetery where I remembered they were having the service. It had been planned for nine o’clock, but maybe someone would be there.
No one was there when I got to the cemetery. It had been quicker than usual. It was easy to find the freshly dug grave. The gravestone was nice. It was dark green with a polished look. I wondered who had paid for it. It looked expensive. Then, I thought something Jane had once told me. I had asked her about dying and she had said this: “When someone dies they only die in the world. But the things and the people they loved last longer. The hearts they touch beat with joy when they think about the deceased. When I die, I don’t want you to shed tears. I want you to remember me in your heart and smile and move on with your life. But you make sure whoever you touch with your life, also smiles when you die.”
I smiled and walked away.
